


Intimate Holdings

by caretta



Series: The Faults in Our Scala [1]
Category: Transformers (Dreamwave Generation One)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Come Inflation, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Knotting, M/M, Sado-Masochism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:07:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27962012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caretta/pseuds/caretta
Summary: He took pride in it, the fact that Sideswipe could afford to be dumb and reckless. Of course his brother should be able to take risks others could not — he had Sunstreaker to watch out for him.
Relationships: Sideswipe/Sunstreaker
Series: The Faults in Our Scala [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2047871
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Intimate Holdings

The footsteps clanged down the hallway, echoing off row after row of empty holding cells. They were the last of their unit to remain in this facility, the rest having been moved to “processing”, or shipped off to their new masters. After today, Sunstreaker suspected they would be cleaned out as well, to make room for fresh merchandises. The particulars of “cleaned out” remained to be seen. Him, probably kicked to hard labour, seeing how nobody on this planet had figured what to do with yellow-eyed freaks like him. As to Sideswipe, well...

His cell door beeped open, two guards shoved in Sideswipe’s battered body, kicking him a few times for good measure before walking away. Sunstreaker watched the door slam shut, waiting a few kliks to evaluate Sideswipes’ ragged venting. Rough, but nothing vital. His brother could take worse. 

“C’mere,” he said, still sat on the slab near the far wall, both elbows propped on his spread knees. He saw Sideswipe twitch, joints whining from having been bent too far the wrong way. He looked like slag, drawing one faint trail of blood on the floor as he half crawled, half pulled himself by the elbow, bit by bit, until he could lift his head to look at Sunstreaker’s ankle. 

“They left your faceplate,” Sunstreaker observed. 

“Can’t damage the goods,” his twin laughed weakly, then coughed more blood. “Not too much, any way.”

Thrusting one arm down, Sunstreaker hauled him up by the shoulder, ignoring Sideswipe’s yelp of pain as he pulled his brother into his lap. 

“Pathetic suckers, all of ‘em,” Sideswipe said, somewhat muffled behind Sunstreaker’s hand turning his face this way and that. Neck cables bitten, but still in tact, no major line damaged. “Think they’re so tough. Like I can’t wrestle ten with both my hands tied. Almost ripped one’s head off too, but they had shock rods this time. Buncha cowards!” 

Yes, Sunstreaker could see a dozen places where the plating singed, mostly near joints where the wiring was most vulnerable. Thankfully, even the worst burn were nowhere near critical circuitry. At most, the melted edges would impede movement, hardly a drawback given Sideswipe’s currently advertised purpose. His twin was right, they _were_ being careful, despite his repeated insolence. Autobots stock was running low, after all. Within a few cycles, they had somehow become a despised, mistreated, yet hotly coveted minority. It tickled Sunstreaker just how absurd it was, not least because the badge he still wore no longer qualified him as one of them. 

Satisfied that the twisted ankle that reduced Sideswipe to crawling earlier was an easy fix, Sunstreaker shifted his arm up his twin’s back, allowing Sideswipe to lean sideways against his chest. Sideswipe had grown quiet, battle rush giving way to the occasional short, sharp hiss of pain; but when he felt a hand tracing down his front, his mouth shot off again. 

“I locked it, ya know? They threatened to tear it off, then I told the nearest guy that he had a tiny rocket and it set the whole thing off. Can’t believe they keep falling for that every day! Just how dumb can these Cons be?!”

Very, no argument there. However, if Sideswipe thought their captors would put up with his slag forever, he was dead wrong. 

“They’ll give you to the Insecticons, I overheard the guards talk earlier. No payment necessary. Bombshell is growing a new brood, he thinks a strong frontliner like you will speed it along nicely. Today was your last chance to find a normal buyer. You blew it.”

Sunstreaker’s voice did not change, simply stating facts. He turned his hand, cupping Sideswipe’s panel, hot and firm, letting the prospect sink in. Even with all that blood loss, Sideswipe paled further, subconsciously pressing himself against his brother for comfort. They all heard stories about Bombshell’s other victims. Sunstreaker let him, not saying anything else for a while. 

As evening turned into late night, their cell, originally a damp cargo basement, was pinging sub-optimal temperature by the klik. Sideswipe’s hands finally flexed in his lap, curled into fists, then stretched again. Head low, his brother bit his lower lip, obviously warring with himself. At last, almost inaudible, he said, 

“Streaker, I’m cold...”

Sunstreaker tightened his arm around his brother’s waist. 

Sideswipe never asked where they came from. 

***

Sunstreaker never liked kissing. Sloppy, gross, likely to scratch up his paint. Sideswipe however, loved raining kisses all over his face, his neck, his shoulders; nudging soft little mewls into his plating as Sunstreaker worked him open. They did not do this as often as they wanted to, because there was no time, something so small and absurdly tight never able to hold more than two of Sunstreaker’s fingers at most. If only there was space in this stupid war to take his brother aside, to touch him where he so obviously craved, feel the mesh griping hot and slick around his rod. But no, he only spoiled Sideswipe as circumstances allowed, and never hurt him more than he could handle. Delicate parts were hard to come by, they could seldom risk it. 

Except for today, apparently. 

Next to his audial, Sideswipe vented hard, bearing down around his fingers, practically begging for the next part to come. Sunstreaker ignored him, curling his fingertips to run them around the rim, spreading what little natural lubricant there was. It never made sense to them, when they first started fumbling around, why Sunstreaker could pressurize his rod fully and Sideswipe could not, why Sideswipe had a tiny opening back there and he didn’t. Frankly, they did not care. Sideswipe liked when he touched him there, so he did. His rod felt good in Sideswipe’s mouth, so they continued. Then they put two and two together. Once, Sideswipe wondered if people who weren’t twins could do that, if everyone had their half that could fit together. Turned out, it was not just them. It was their entire species, split along that mostly useless, mostly unnoticeable line.

Except for a few outliers.

Sideswipe never questioned that they were “fraternal twins.” Never wondered why he himself got standard box frame, while Sunstreaker’s was hand-painted and custom-detailed...

“C’mon, Streaker! I can take it, swear!” Sideswipe gripped his shoulders, impatiently pushing against the slab to grind down. Sunstreaker kept still then, let his twin adjust, rub himself until he found the place inside that felt good. He could tell he found it when Sideswipe shuddered and threw his head back, his smaller rod half hard, leaking lubricant all over Sunstreaker’s abdomen. They could have finished like that. They usually did, with Sideswipe writhing in his lap, hands roaming, desperate like he wanted to touch all of Sunstreaker, all at once. Not today. Surprising even himself, Sunstreaker wanted more. He wanted — needed to stake his claim, some how. Something itching at the back of his processor demanded it. 

Reluctantly, he withdrew his fingers. Took his time, dragging his knuckles against the rim. Sideswipe tilted his head, flushed even though they were no where near done. Sunstreaker couldn’t help but picture a small turbofox he met in the wild once. He tried not to smile, but Sideswipe noticed. 

“You slagger,” he accused, irritably fond, “you’re insulting me in your head!” 

Sunstreaker leaned back against the wall to take a good look at his prize. The filthy platings; the litany of dents, scrapes and burns. Perched on top of that scrapheap were two overly-bright optics, torn between kissing him and threatening him grievous bodily harm. Sunstreaker couldn’t help it, he laughed. 

“Idiot,” he mused, more to himself, let his panel slide back. With the Quintessons’ very educational holovids for comparison, his rod looked a little strange, and he had some inkling as to why. It took some digging, all the way back to his base codes that run automatics like fuel pumping and energon processing. He hit a snag there, an enquiry, promising something like an entire system switch. One of two choices, yes or no. To what, he had never cared to pursue. Not until now. 

Long ago, he was told to take his brother and run. Where they came from, many people had yellow eyes. Sunstreaker certainly weren’t a freak. Unlike the majority of the planet, however — he had options. 

It started, unexpectedly, at the base of his strut. Cogs and wheels, never before used, shuddering, sliding into formation. He had never transformed at that micro-level, never before felt the particulars of his inner workings so intimately. Things snapped and slotted into place, according to ancient schematics that felt alien, yet as natural as driving. Something was being moved forward, to where his rod was housed, and he gritted his dentae at the new base being corkscrewed, before his system pinged a complete preparation sequence. Though it felt like vorns to him, his chronometer said it had been mere kliks. He looked into his brother’s blue optics then, witnessed his own color slowly bleed from yellow to red. 

Fear dawned on Sideswipe’s face. “Streaker, wha—,” he began, but had no chance to finish as he was born down onto the slab and finally penetrated. His earlier patience paid off, Sideswipe opened up for him, took him in one smooth glide until the soft rim met something that had never been there before. 

Caught, confused and pained, Sideswipe fought his hand, until Sunstreaker had to grip his chin to meet his optics. 

“I’m still me, dumbaft. Always been.”

Sideswipe made his idiot face. 

“Been what, a Con? Are you fragging kidding me??”

Sunstreaker half-grimaced, not thrilled with that label himself.

“In coding only. This is us, baby brother. Just like the Quintessons said.” To stress the point, he pressed his front against Sideswipe’s body while thrusting in, making sure he scraped against every bit of bleeding welts and bared wiring. 

Sideswipe hitched, grimacing in pain; Sunstreaker immediately felt lubricant trickle down from the tip of his twin’s rod, easing his way. That’s just Sideswipe, people said, always getting into trouble, bumping himself into anything and everything. If only they knew... Sunstreaker palmed the nearest burn on his brother’s hip and gripped, making Sideswipe cry out, his optics welling up even as his insides spasmed in sudden overload. When Sunstreaker dug at the exposed circuitry, twisting and rolling them; his twin could only throw his hands up to grip the edge of the slab, biting down his moans, pistols pumping and vents hitching in aborted movements. 

Needy little masochist. Sunstreaker held on, waited, let the last wave of Sideswipe’s overload subside. Then he felt an ankle dug against his back. Two arms snaked up to pull him down, press their foreheads together. 

“So this... us...” Sideswipe panted, still reeling, “Bot and Con... as Primus intended huh?”

Sunstreaker just moved, taking that as the obvious ‘more’ it was meant to be. Sideswipe hissed, still sensitive, and something inside Sunstreaker clicked into place. He gave his body over to the rush of directives, all demanding that he expand, conquer, take what is his, give no mercy. Overcome by his brother’s pained noises, he craved more, clawed at joints until he smelled fresh energon and Sideswipe cried with every thrust. Sunstreaker gripped both his knees then, bent him back and pounded, faster, deeper, tension making the base of his rod swelling up. Sideswipe was shaking his head, face completely wet; his rim stretched impossibly wide, taking more than he ever had before. Sunstreaker laid a hand on Sideswipe’s abdomen and pressed down, feel the hot mesh tighten all around him, imagining he could grip the knot if he ground his palm. Sideswipe twitched weakly, trying to get away, and in a heady rush Sunstreaker finally understood what that extra component was for. To make Sideswipe stay, to keep him safe, to fill him up with Sunstreaker, only Sunstreaker. The coiling heat suddenly erupted, blinding white; like a fever dream he watched Sideswipe’s abdomen plating slowly rise up, processor taking a while to make the connection that it was being pushed by his own transfluid. From the first crashing intensity, his overload gradually mellowed into a tingling, pleasant heat, all along his rod where they were locked together; his knot making sure that Sideswipe had to hold every single drop...

***

A long while later, the knot finally subsided. Sunstreaker disconnected, pulling his rod back into its housing. Sideswipe’s opening had triggered some autolock mechanism, keeping his transfluid inside. He moved so Sideswipe could rest his head on Sunstreaker’s lap, lying on the side, stomach uncomfortably heavy. Neither of them had the strength to talk, the consequences of what just happened still not fully sinking in.

Yet more time passed. Sunstreaker patted his brother’s head absent-mindedly, until he heard a strangled noise. 

He paused. The noise repeated, and this time he could make out what it was. 

“D-don’t... let them take me...”

Sideswipe pulled Sunstreaker’s hand down, using it to cover his own face as his shoulders shook. 

“They t— they groped, theybitmeandtheytriedtokissme! It was disgusting! I hate it, hateithateithateit, I tried to fight them off butthereweresomany— Streaker I hate them, please just make them go away!”

There, finally. What he wanted to hear.

Something like hot oil poured down his intake before coiling around his spark, bitter and heavy. Sunstreaker glared at a corner of the ceiling, decision finally crystalized. 

“Hey, slagger!”

The stereo instantly cackled to life, no doubt caught in the middle of their jacking off session. 

“—thefrag??!”

Sunstreaker rolled his optics. 

“Tell your boss, a stray Decepticon wants his badge—“

He looked down at his brother’s face, shielded from the world by his palm, like he should always be. 

“— and I already claimed my Autobot.”

End.


End file.
